Son of Otis
by Zandoz
Summary: House of 1000 Corpses fan fiction. The sequel to Seed of Evil: years later, Stacy's son begins to wonder where he came from and causes trouble everywhere he goes. What will happen if he finds daddy dearest?
1. Default Chapter

--Sept. 1993--  
  
"Mom," hollered the lad. "Have you seen my headphones?"  
  
"You don't need headphones to go to school," responded Stacy, stuffing objects in her purse. "Now hurry up," she began looking for her keys. She was smartly dressed in a business skirt and jacket, thick red hair up in a twist.  
  
The sixteen year old boy rolled his eyes and kept looking, determined not to listen to the day's Algebra lecture. His long bangs covered his face while his head was bent down searching. The locks themselves were an unbelievable shade of platinum blond, but it was natural. "Aha!," his wide mouth cracked into an endearing smile. He threw the headphones and walkman into his backpack and appeared at the side of his mother, tapping his foot as if waiting on her.  
  
Finding the car keys, she started to call "Tommy!," then jumped when she saw he was right there. Sometimes out of the corner of her eye when he'd be standing she thought she saw his father, Otis, the backwoods psycho she'd run into years ago. Making a sour face at him she told him it was time to go and turned on her heel. Giggling could be heard behind her and she pretended not to hear. God, her son was weird sometimes. He followed her to her cherished Chevy Blazer and made her start again when she went to open the door and he was right behind her. "You terd!," she declared, exasperated. "Get in the car so I can get you to school before I whoop your tail."  
  
Silly grin still on his face he obeyed, throwing his backpack in the backseat. He wondered why his mother was so tense sometimes. She acted like someone walked over her grave if he came upon her unawares. He felt she needed a man in her life, a serious one. Preferably one that wouldn't be a total ass to him and be like 'I'm your father, blah blah blah.' As they neared the school his attention swung to the day's activities, and if he could get Carla to pay attention to him or not.  
  
The Blazer came to a stop. "Love you," Stacy said gently. "Try not to burn the place down." The corners of her full lips turned up.  
  
"Love you too. Bye Mom!," the boy grabbed his bookbag and jumped out, combat boots hitting the pavement with a thunk, flannel shirt trailing after him. He's gonna be a fine-looking man someday, Stacy thought with motherly pride.  
  
"You're mine," Otis snarled in her brain "And so is he." Shaking her head she told herself she had an article to turn in and accelerated the vehicle. She still got the voice every once in a while, the pesky voices she had to drink away or take sleeping pills to get to bed at night.  
  
Tommy was unusually listless at supper so Stacy asked him what was wrong. After a minute of prodding he replied that some of the students had been harassing him about his appearance and that he didn't know who his father was. Some had speculated that his dad might be a circus freak due to Tommy's outlandish hair and skin.  
  
"Jesus, I thought we had this over with back in third grade," Stacy snorted. She looked up and found that he was regarding her with her own eyes, his face full of curiosity. She sighed, setting down her fork.  
  
"It's not the guy you were supposed to marry, I'm sure of that," spoke the lad. "The dates just don't add up. So who is it?"  
  
"I don't think--," she began.  
  
"Please, Mom," he went on. "I have a right to know."  
  
"It was a one night stand," she blurted out, grasping at straws. "It was a stupid thing, I didn't even know the guy." _Oh man, that's a lame one_, she thought.  
  
Tommy didn't speak for a few moments. "All right, fine. You can't keep the big secret forever."  
  
_I'll damn well try, for your sake_, Stacy thought.  
  
Saturday morning Stacy opened her crusty eyes, smacking her lips. Ugh, cotton mouth. She'd crawled down the bottle yet again it seems. She didn't even know when Tommy came home last night, or if he had at all. Clad in only t-shirt and shorts she staggered into down the hall and stuck her head in his room. He was sound asleep in his bed, a smooth arm thrown over his tousled head. Posters of bands covered the walls in his room, clothes were in the floor and tapes and movies were all over the shelves. Ahhh, teenagers. She continued on to the kitchen and poured herself a heaping glass of orange juice. Yum, acid.  
  
Thankfully, she didn't remember her dreams of last night. She felt 80 but didn't look it--in fact she looked much younger than her age. She stared at the sculpture her son had made--Orion the hero, who he was named after. He was such the artist. Rubbing her temples she sat at the small kitchen table, contemplating. She went to the living room and turned on the tv, promptly bringing Tommy out of his bedroom, scratching his head. "Have you seen that cat?," his mother asked.  
  
"What cat?"  
  
"The one that shit in my mouth. We need to catch it," she replied, flicking through the channels.  
  
"You do that every time," he mock-complained, plopping down on the couch beside Stacy. He'd been pretty much back to normal since the big question the other day, but she worried. She also knew he hated it when she drank and she tried to be discreet about it, but sometimes she just didn't care.  
  
The tv numbing her mind with its blandness, she ran through the memories in her head. She beheld a seven-year-old Tommy running to her when she came to pick him up from the next door neighbor who'd been babysitting for her. "Mooommy!," he had howled, red and covered in blisters.  
  
"You didn't let him play outside all day, did you?," she questioned Mrs. Watley, who had a boy about her son's age.  
  
"Well I didn't think this would happen," she responded sulkily. "Shawn wanted to go outside, so I let them go together." The older woman wiped her hands on her dish towel. Stacy huffed and scolded, scooping up the sunburnt child and put him in her car, making soothing noises. An athletic, active boy, he nevertheless was forced to be indoors during the hottest part of the day. Stacy slathered Noxzema, aloe and cocoa butter on him for days afterward, and he was ever cautious about the summer sun after that.  
  
Around noon as Stacy was running on the treadmill when Tommy announced he was going to go out with some friends to the park and to grab something to eat. She told him not to be out late and not to break any laws, to which he rolled his eyes and agreed.  
  
He met his friends Laura and Dan on the corner. "Bout time," sniffed Laura, tossing her raven locks. "Kiss my ass," Tommy replied. They headed for the public library. The mystery of his birth awaited.  
  
Hours later he had found no clear information on his origins, but he did find some interesting pieces. Or rather, the short lad Dan did. "Check this out," he'd whispered urgently, trying not to get scolded in the library. It was a microfilm of an article from 1977 about his uncle Thomas Raphael Robins going missing. He was last seen in an obscure place called Ruggsville. Laura and Tommy both said they never heard of the place, and Dan hadn't any idea either.  
  
Ruggsville, Ruggsville...Tommy poked through the computer archives. After some hard maneuvering through the non-user-friendly system he come upon some interesting things.  
  
_...Dr. Quayle aka Dr. Satan tortured and mutilated his patients, often before death, peforming what appears to be experiments meant to improve the human race.  
_  
_...He had several of the implants inside his own body after study.._  
  
_...Dr. Satan's trial hit some road bumps, bringing the proceedings to a grinding halt. A mob gathered outside the town and lynched the gruesome former mental ward director. However, his body has disappeared and the police are saying nothing--did the vigilantes abuse his dead body?_  
  
Laura screwed up a face after she'd scanned through the contents, expressing her distaste. Somehow Tommy noticed the jiggle of her budding breasts through the babydoll dress she wore, and it was distracting. He was uncomfortable; he'd never thought of her as a girl before--shaking his head he concentrated on the screen before him.  
  
Tommy returned home later that evening, his whole outlook on life changed. He didn't talk to Stacy much, simply answered her questions and went to his room, shutting the door. Mom knows something about Tom's demise. She was in the area. Laura had found records showing a 3 month stay in a crazy house, spouting shit about a 'death house' in the area that was never found. Laura had also read the bestselling novel written by his mother which had some interesting things in it. _House that Satan Built_ had rivaled _The Amityville Horror_ in mystery and controversy, and the character that harassed the heroine, could he be this man that his mother sees in her dreams? What else is she keeping from him?  
  
He had the impulse to create, so he began sketching, pencil following its own design and he just let it happen.  
  
Stacy hung up the phone with her friend Tina, blowing out a deep breath. She didn't know what was wrong with herself, but she felt that something wasn't right, and it centered around her son. She went to her bedroom and changed into some jeans and a blouse and went to her son's door. Knocking, she told Tommy she was going to the store for a few minutes. He responded that he'd be here and that he didn't want to go. Shrugging, she grabbed her purse and keys and headed to her truck.  
  
She unlocked and opened the door, threw her purse in the passenger side and started to jump in when a shadow popped up from the spacious back seat and called her by name.  
  
"What in the hell--," she began.  
  
The intruder's face came into the light, showing a scarred face, close- cropped hair and a beautiful grey eye. "Shh," he hissed, good eye darting to and fro.  
  
"Jim?!," Stacy exclaimed.  
  
"Uh huh," he affirmed, pulling her into the vehicle. Stacy stared at him for a few moments, taking in his scars, stubble, and nonmatching glass eye he wore in his empty socket. "What are you doing in my car?," she demanded.  
  
"Came to find you," was his noncommital reply.  
  
"_But you're insane_! Weren't you in a place for veterans?"  
  
"Yep," he responded, then instructed her to drive to a secluded spot. She hesitated for a moment, the started up the blazer and began driving to the outskirts of town. If she could handle Otis then she could handle this guy, or she could damn well try. When she got parked she turned to him and voiced her displeasure.  
  
"Something's afoot," he told her matter-of-factly.  
  
"Is that so?," she huffed. "What makes you think I won't turn your Agent Orange ass into the police?"  
  
"We're comrades, you and I.. And we both know what happened back in '77. Don't we?" Stacy said nothing. "We ain't crazy. At least not like they made us out to be. I saw things, Stacy. Great and terrible things, and I just had to find you."  
  
"What did you see?," she asked him, starting to listen to him.  
  
"I--I can't say, not yet."  
  
Stacy's forehead went forward, touching the steering wheel. "Just what I need, another nut."  
  
"You see him, don't you?," he questioned her urgently.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"The ghostman," he said.  
  
"Shut up!!," she barked. "Get out of my car! You fucking lunatic, don't you come around me or my son!"  
  
"He's the key," Jim declared cryptically.  
  
"GET OUT!," Stacy roared, and the man finally complied, shaking his head sadly as he did so. She went home and drank two bottles of whiskey before passing clean out.  
  
"Moooom," a voice pierced the fog in her head. "Moooom." Then she was being flounced on her bed. Prising her heavy eyelids open she espied her teenager bouncing on her bed on hands and knees like a demented rabbit, cackling riotously. The bed groaned with both their weight as Tommy continued his madcap boinging beside her. "I'm up," she protested, putting the pillow over her head.  
  
"Where's my breakfasht?," Tommy teased, pulling the pillow and covers off her. Groaning, she rolled onto her back and sternly chastised his tormenting of his own mother. As usual it went in one ear and out the other, but at least he left her alone. His laughter could be heard down the hall as he went to the living room. Turning her head, the clock read 10 am.--jeez how long did she drink last night? Rubbing her eyes she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She loped into the bathroom in her bra and panties, checking her reflection in the mirror. "Uugh," she went, splashing her bloated face with water.  
  
She glanced over to the tiny bathroom window and screeched. Jim's battered face could be discerned, intently watching her. "Son of a bitch!" He skidaddled, a few leaves from the bushes the only evidence of his passing. 


	2. The Downward Spiral

Monday--  
  
Stacy pulled into the little driveway, fuming. She'd been running all over the place today, working on this lame article about a sexual harrassment suit in an attorney's office trying to get quotes. She was worried about that loose cannon Jim and when she went to pick up Tommy from school he wasn't there. No one could tell her where he was. Peeved, she stomped up the path and threw open the door. "Tommy! Are you here?" He was coming out of the bathroom as she approached the hall. "You knew I was picking you up, you monkeypants!"  
  
"Mom," he exclaimed, surprised. His face was cut and bruised and his Pearl Jam shirt was torn.  
  
It brought the redhead up short. "What happened to you? Were you fighting?"  
  
"Yeah," he admitted, looking at the floor. "I walked home."  
  
"What happened?," she questioned again. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Nothing, I'm fine," he answered, heading for his room. Stacy followed him, preventing him from shutting his door. It ended up being a poutfest (on Tommy's part) since he wouldn't tell her what he'd been fighting about. After his mother finally left he threw himself on the bed, mentally drained.  
  
The day had started out so good.  
  
Then when he tried talking to Carla the perfect blonde cheerleader she called him phantom boy and mocked him. He got the usual stares at lunch, then he was accosted by Shawn Watley who apparently had it in for him. Might have had something to do with the fact he also liked Carla, and she most likely ran and told him a buncha crap. After classes he was waiting for his mom to pick him up with Laura when Shawn jumped him. His friend Laura tried to pull them apart but it was too much for her. Then she ran for help as Tommy's pale face was being pummelled into the ground. Red fog enclosed his vision and he squirmed out from under his assailant and began slamming Shawn's face and head with his large fists.  
  
Then the boy stopped struggling and Tommy rolled off of him, shocked. Worried, he bent down and could hear him breathing and see his chest rising, but he was unconscious. Wiping his mouth he sprang up and ran home, afraid of his own rage, of other people, everything.  
  
Why can't he get through a day without being harrassed? Why can't he get girls to notice him? Why did he have to be different?  
  
The next evening Tommy appeared in the living room when his mother was hanging up with an enraged Mrs. Watley, protesting the beating her son Shawn recieved at Tommy's hands. She glared at him as he plopped on the couch. "What?," he challenged after a moment.  
  
"Boy, you are something. No going out on the weekends for you for a month since you've taken it upon yourself to beat the crap outta people and not tell me why."  
  
"Just like not telling me about my uncle's disappearance and how I was born?," he shot back, eliciting a surprised gasp from Stacy. "I ain't stupid, you know. You and this other dude were in Meadowbrook for while for being crazy. I know, Mom. So why don't you tell me the rest?"  
  
Stacy groaned inside; she should've known. "You have no reason to know, trust me. It's for your own safety."  
  
"I deserve to know! Where did I come from, who's my father, the other half of my family?"  
  
"Drop it, Tommy! Just let it be!," Stacy leaped to her feet, stomping toward her bedroom. The teenager hurled epithets at his mother's back but she didn't respond. Growling, he started for his room then decided to poke around the half- basement and see what he could find. Stumbling down the dirty wooden steps he found the pull chain for the light when he got to the bottom. A shaky, yellow light illuminated the room, throwing long shadows on boxes and shelves of junk, things put away for storage. He selected one and rummaged through it, finding old tax papers and--some photographs. Leafing through them he beheld grainy pictures of Tom and Stacy together, some of his grandparents and other family members. Something scurried by his feet and he jumped, dropping the box. "Ugh," he spat. A damn rat brazenly sniffing around. Disgusted he reached for the closest thing at hand which was a small gardening trowel that had been forgotten about (Stacy was never much for gardening). He plunged it into the rodent's back, a small squeal announcing the animal's pain. Tommy stabbed it again, leaving it twitching. The blood enthralled him, leaving him grossed out but wanting more. A voice in his head encouraged him to do it again; hand shaking he obeyed. _Pain is power._  
  
_Go away!_  
  
_Who do you think saved you from that preppy asshole?  
_  
He had no rebuttal for that. Pushing through stacks of boxes and papers, he discovered another grey rat skulking in the shadows. He grabbed it up and crushed it in his hands, earning praise from the voice in his brain. He also felt much better. For a moment he wondered if he was going insane.  
  
Ahh, detention. That lovely device to punish rulebreakers by making them sit for 8 hours and do nothing and have one bathroom break. Tommy was massively hating it. Dan had been in awe after he heard that Tommy had laid the smack down on Shawn and Tommy was missing him. And Laura, sweet loyal girl. She wanted to help him when that idiot jumped him. His mom was still mad at him, and he was getting mighty restless in the detention class with the other losers.  
  
At long last 3:00 rolled around and they were dismissed, and Tommy went in search for Laura. He found her by the outside basketball court, alone. She turned as he got near and smiled at him, her melting smile. "Hey you. Was detention worth it?," she asked, referring to the fight.  
  
"You bet," he replied, suddenly entranced with her black hair and tight shirt. _Kiss her, you idiot.  
_  
_What?  
_  
_Kiss her!_  
  
Tommy leaned forward and put his lips on hers, unsure of what to do next. Taken unawares she dropped her bookbag when he put his arms around her, holding her to him. After a few seconds of bliss she pushed him away. "What are you doing?," she asked, confused.  
  
"I dunno why I did that," he floundered.  
  
Her bewildered expression was replaced by an affectionate, coy one--then she kissed him back. As excitement tingled in his veins it was mingled by an urge to wrap his fingers around her pretty neck and squeeze...oh yes....they parted and he wanted to get away. He excused himself and ran all the way home again.  
  
_Kill the cheerleader. She deserves it; she's asking for it._ He protested NO, but the voice went on, urging him to hit her, cut her, make her bleed.  
  
_The tall spectre beckoned to her, smiling---was it a mocking smile? A knowing one, perhaps? His white hair fell down to his waist, faded eyes sparkling. "Where are you, darlin? Where's my son?"  
  
"He's safe from you! Leave us alone!," she screamed back at him.  
  
Otis leaned forward, grasping her shoulders roughly. She twisted in his grip, attempting to rid herself of him.  
_  
"No!," Stacy screamed, waking herself up, gasping. Her vision cleared, revealing her son standing over her. "Wha-?" He took her head in his arms and she wept like a baby. After she was spent, Tommy sat on the bed beside his mom. "No more fighting?," he asked softly.  
  
"Oh God, Tommy. I love you," she spoke, arms going around his solid frame, this being she created with a maniac. No, this was her son. "I don't like keeping things from you, but I don't think you're ready for the truth yet. Please trust me on this."  
  
"I'm sorry, Mom," he said as he smoothed her damp reddish hair away from her face. Tommy would bide his time--and she was still his mother.  
  
The sixteen year old watched the other students with contempt and a little pity. He tailed Carla the popular girl and cheerleader as she made her hip- swinging way to the bus. He jumped from the side and cold-cocked her, dropping her like so much dead meat. "Heh heh," he laughed, making sure no one had noticed as he dragged her prim little body off. In the ratty basement of the house he secured her with cord, gagging her as well. Carla opened her pretty blue eyes to the dim yellowish light and musty boxes and tried to scream to no avail. Tommy socked her in the side of the head again for the hell of it, nearly sending her out again. She struggled against her restraints, polka dotted button-up blouse torn and heaving at her ample bosom. "Caught in a web, ain't you?," cackled Tommy, holding up a pocket knife.  
  
"Damn," cursed Dan, running a hand through his shaggy dirty blond hair. Tommy wasn't answering the phone, and he was kinda worried. Tommy had been acting rather strange lately. "Nothing," he told Laura, who was biting her lip. "You think we should go over there?"  
  
"Nah, don't wanna piss his mom off," she decided, tossing her black hair. "Let's go play Nintendo."  
  
Stacy pulled into the driveway, sure that the crazed Jim was still watching her and feeling creeped out. That little butthole son of hers better be home or there'd be some asswhooping going on.  
  
Looking up from his work, Tommy knew his mother was home and licked the knife clean, replacing it in his back pocket. Then he licked Carla's face, causing her to moan in fear. "You taste good," he told her, groping a nubile breast before he turned to leave.  
  
Stacy was running on her treadmill in the spare room when Tommy made an appearance. He got behind her and ran, causing her to smile. She upped the speed and he slid off with a thunk, making her double up with laughter and follow him soon after. The routine was an attempt to fend off the middle-age spread, and she had for the most part succeeded. Her behind had inevitably gotten bigger and she collected a few stretch marks, but nothing that she couldn't live with. Oh well, she filled her jogging pants and tank top nicely, anyways. After the laughing ceased she asked him to run up to the store and get a few things for her. In the Cavalier, not the Blazer she made very clear. Nobody touches the Blazer. Grumbling, Tommy agreed to go.  
  
Approaching the red car with the requested items in a paper bag Tommy noticed a scraggly older man tailing him. He stuffed the groceries in the back seat and turned to eye the stranger. Ugh, he has a crazy eye and a scarred face--but Tommy thought to himself _I'm one to talk haha_.  
  
Jim watched intently as the boy started the car up and drove off, troubled. He had a feeling the disease had started festering here. If only Stacy would let him talk to her. Maybe he should've tried talking to the lad, but his appearance frightened him. He resembled Otis Driftwood quite a bit; Jim only hoped he had enough of his mother in him.  
  
Stacy's mouth dropped--she had went downstairs to the storage area to look at some old pictures since she was feeling nostalgic. What greeted her was a sight from her nightmarish past: a young girl dirty and bleeding, clothes torn. "Oh my God," she uttered softly, clutching the rusty handrail for support. How could this be? The girl's eyes fluttered, focusing on the large woman. "Hold on," she comforted the girl. "I'll get you out soon." She clunked up the stairs and made for the front door to lock it while Tommy was gone. Before she reached the door it swung open, Tommy entering and shutting the door. Stacy felt like a possum in the headlights, and her son turned to her and read her face.  
  
"Mom?," he said uncertainly. The horror was plain in her expression, bag of groceries falling to the hardwood floor. Stacy backed slowly away. She wished he'd stop looking at her with her own eyes.  
  
"Tommy," she spoke, then swallowed. "I feel like I fucked up somehow. Whew, all right we can get through this," she thought out loud. "We can get you some help--"  
  
"I don't want any help!," he declared, his pale face flushing with emotion. "This ain't about you for once." He stepped toward her and she backed up further.  
  
"I can't let this go on," she said deliberately.  
  
"You can't stop me," Tommy hissed. "I'm through with your lies."  
  
"NO!," she screamed as he lunged toward her. They ended up a writhing heap on the floor, Tommy eventually gaining the upper hand and smashing her head into the floor until she stopped struggling. _Now you have her._ He dragged her large frame into her bedroom and tied her to the bed. Tommy stuffed some bedding under her neck, propping her mouth open. Poking through her medicines he found her sleeping pills and a bottle of wine. Nice. He put several in her mouth and poured wine down her throat. She coughed, swallowed then gagged, begging him to stop. _She's kept you from your heritage_, spoke the voice in his mind. _You have work to do.  
_  
The young man went through Stacy's purse, cleaning out all the money in her wallet and snatching the truck keys.  
  
Score. 


	3. Meet the Family

He opened his eyes and looked to the left, drinking in the silvery moonlight. The dusty room hadn't been inhabited for quite some time, but every now and then he would venture up there. He sat up, still in his clothes from the day before and continued gazing out the window. He crossed the room to the window, pale form blending in with the watery light. He'd seen her again, she who had stayed in this room years ago. He would sleep in here with her many nights; he considered her his wife. His son also appeared in his visions, a strapping boy full of promise, his flesh and blood.  
  
How would he ever see him? He spent very little of his time aboveground these days, and knew that after a whole day in the sunlight he'd be fried to a crisp. Get yer tasty marinated Otis, ladies and gents! He chuckled, a dry rattling sound that echoed in the deserted room. One lung had a nasty habit of collapsing, but the treatments seemed to help. He scratched his stomach with his right hand, which was mostly metal. He'd designed it himself, with help from RJ and his useful little wife. He slipped downstairs, certain everyone was asleep. Stepping outside his nostrils flared, sniffing the cool air. Something was happening--he was sure of it. It excited him.  
  
"That yew, Otis?," came a feminine voice. "I see so little of you anymore."  
  
He turned and smiled at Baby. She was smoking a cigarette and coming toward him, winsome grin on her face. "Hullo, Baby. That's a bad habit." In fact, Mother Firefly had passed away a few years earlier of lung cancer.  
  
"Fuck you, buddy," she cracked with her trademark childlike voice and exhaled.  
  
"Whatchoo been doin with yourself lately?"  
  
"Oh, the usual. Spankin off, puttin my thumb up my ass, my art and experiments."  
  
She giggled, pink t-shirt shaking with mirth. "You still havin them dreams?"  
  
Otis didn't say anything for a few moments. "Uh huh. Be prepared for somethin."  
  
"Fer what?"  
  
"Beats me, woman." He started walking toward the field, where his lair awaited him. Peace and cool darkness and solitude. And his creations.  
  
Tommy went to the front door and halted, thinking. A big evil smile spread across his otherwise attractive face.  
  
The next morning the lad was gone, Stacy in a coma and Mrs. Watley was screaming when she discovered her son Shawn in bed with a crowbar buried in his forehead, eyes glazed with the fear of his last moments.

Consulting the road map he'd purchased he could see that his destination was in the middle of nowhere. He'd have to hurry and lose himself before he was missed. As he was speeding down the highway he looked over to the passenger side of the Blazer and smiled.  
  
"Mmmmph!," went the bound and duct-taped girl. He caressed her thigh and put Nirvana Nevermind in the tape deck. Tommy had found his happy place.  
  
Around 11 o'clock that night he pulled off the main road and stopped, yawning. He pulled Carla out of the passenger side and put her in the back, hands still tied behind her back. She was weak, terrified and much smaller than him so her struggling didn't help her. He yanked the duct tape from her mouth for shits and giggles and she began pleading.  
  
"Please..where are you taking me? Please don't hurt me any more," she sobbed. How the mighty do fall, Tommy thought. "Tommy don't kill me. Pleeease don't hurt me--"  
  
"Grovelling doesn't become you, dear," he mocked her, running his long fingers through her matted blonde hair. "How does it feel to be a plaything?" Her blue eyes welled up with tears, shaking her head. He grasped her head and kissed her, then replaced the gag. After that he curled up beside her and slept.  
  
The next morning he chewed on some beef jerky he'd gotten the day before and peered at the map again. He pulled the tape back off the girl's face and offered her some. Her first instinct was to refuse but she hadn't had anything to eat in a couple of days so she accepted even though she normally hated it. He also poured some Pepsi in her mouth which she took greedily then was silenced once more and ordered to stay down or else. He counted his money and noted that he had $235 that he'd filched from Stacy's purse. Tommy was soon on his way, the voices in his mind driving him on.

"Stacy?" Hands were on her face, her arms, a voice urging her to awaken. She felt disjointed, as if she was outside her body looking at herself. She opened puffy eyes and tried to focus on the face bending over her. She'd been released from her restraints but could hardly move even though she tried. What was going on? She was helped to a sitting position and could barely hold her head up; it seemed to weigh two tons. "Stacy, you with me?"  
  
"Wha--what....who...," she managed to say. She made out a familiar man sitting beside her, slapping her face with the back of his hand.  
  
"It's Jim. You've been drugged but I think you're over the worst of it. Come on girl, stay awake!," the man admonished, trying to keep her attention. He was sorry he'd waited so long before checking on her. His whole life had been dedicated to her memory and the memory of the cousin who'd been murdered by the Fireflys, and he'd let one with their genes get away to do God only knew what.  
  
"Tommy...my son," she slurred. "Where is he?" Jim replied that he was gone, but that he had a good idea where he might've went. Stacy fought to keep her eyes open and mind conscious. "There's a g-girl in the basement. Go help her."  
  
Jim hoisted her up and helped her to the living room where he deposited her on the couch and rushed down the steps. There was no one there, but he found evidence of someone being kept. Blonde hairs and blood on the wall along with rope, but no girl. He must've taken her with him. If she was still alive, that is. Heaving a sigh he decided that it could wait; Stacy must go with him back to Ruggsville. They must leave and avoid the authorities.  
  
After some searching the grizzled escaped mental patient found keys to the red car he'd seen Tommy drive earlier and bid the still-addled Stacy to find some clothes to put on. He ended up dressing her and bundling her in the Cavalier and starting off. The boy probably had hours on them, but they'd follow nonetheless. Retribution awaited.

About midday a Chevy Blazer turned into a strange-looking gas station/convenience store. Tommy jumped out, the vehicle needing gas and himself needing refreshment. It was a Texaco station it seemed, but there was an old sign that had been taken down and leaning against the wall that read "Fried Chicken and Gasoline." Great combination, the boy thought. Pushing open the door he entered a musty store with an unusual mixture of old and new--shiny linoleum floor, old-ass shelves, weird stuffed animals and a new cash register sitting on an old wooden counter.  
  
"You can kiss my big wrinkled ass, too. I'm goin as fast as I can," a man mopping the floor said to another man. The big man complaining had his back to Tommy and continued his tirade, sloshing dirty mop water on the tiles. The shorter, skinny man shook his head and wandered to the back.  
  
"Hey mister," Tommy spoke. "Could you turn the gas pump on?"  
  
"You can go fuck a duck," the bald-headed man retorted, turning around. His black eyes settled on Tommy and widened with recognition. He was wearing a grungy t-shirt and faded pants, and he was speechless for a few moments. Finally he recovered and declared, "Well, what have we here?"  
  
Tommy was utterly lost at that point, feet rooted to the spot.  
  
"I know who you are," the gravel-voiced man said, wagging his finger at him. "Ah, you lil' dickens you."  
  
"You know who I am?," Tommy was incredulous.  
  
"I know who yer daddy is," he chuckled, showing a row of large stained teeth. "I s'pose you're lookin for him, eh?"  
  
The teen managed to nod.  
  
"I can tell you where to look, youngun. Heh heh," he plopped the mop down in the bucket and came up to him. He was inches taller than Tommy, and he got a twinge of fear as the scraggly old man got close to him. He looked him over, thinking to himself _Otis been sowin his wild oats it seems._ He'd nearly wet himself when he saw the newcomer. "I'll draw you a map, lil numbnuts. Com'ere."  
  
Stacy drifted to consciousness while leaned against the window of a car. She felt worse than she did after a night of binge drinking and she couldn't figure why. She turned her head and saw that Jim was driving the Cavalier. Very fast. "Jim?," she slurred. "Are we going after Tommy?"  
  
"Yep," came the laconic reply. "Been on the road most of the day. Gonna stop for a rest pretty soon."  
  
The woman watched the scenery whiz by, still groggy from the sleeping pills she'd been forced to take. The little town they stopped at was right off the highway, and poor Stacy had to lean on the veteran and get her muscles used to working again. She sucked down the bottle of water he handed to her and was refused more. Jim told her she'd overdo it. Shrugging she ambled back to the car and got inside, preparing herself for the quest to retrieve her son.

"Be sure an' tell yer daddy to fuck the hell off. Non-visiting motherfucker. Now get outta my store, ya tourist." With that, Spaulding shuffled back to the work at hand. He'd allowed his store to be bought out for the fat check he recieved, plus he still worked here since nobody else wanted to do it. Retirement was just around the corner, after all. It also kept people from pestering _him_ so much. Don't look at me, I ain't the owner! The old clown watched the boy exit, wondering what would happen when the family was reunited. Could be interesting.  
  
The store manager was hollering at him from the back about mopping the floor. Baring his teeth Spaulding unscrewed the mop handle from the head and went to the employee area.  
  
thud  
  
Unaware, Tommy jumped in the vehicle, started it up and took off in the direction Spaulding had told him. Carla's moans floated up to the front but he paid it little mind. That evening he pulled in the yard of a large farmhouse. What a spread, Tommy thought, taking in the vast garden and chickens running unhindered. He climbed the steps to the porch, discovering baby doll parts stapled to the wall. Junk, clothes and broken toys littered the whole area--what a bunch of freaks. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the antique-looking door. Movement could be heard, then the door swung open.  
  
A tall, well-built girl about Tommy's age stood before him chomping on bubblegum. She stared at him for a moment, looking him up and down several times. "Can I help ya?," she asked, tossing her wavy red-gold hair.  
  
"Yeah, I was looking for some relatives, or some answers maybe. My name is Tommy Robins and I was looking for my uncle and dad--"  
  
"You need to come on in, monkeybuns," she declared, standing aside and motioning him to enter. He followed her to a den/family room of some sort, the walls covered with ancient peeling wallpaper and musty furniture. "Mama. Mama!," the girl hollered. "I'll go get someone to answer yer questions," the lass told him, bidding him to have a seat until she got back.  
  
The click clack of high heeled shoes approached, and a 40-something woman entered the room with an open beer in one hand. She was scantily clad and still beautiful, with thick blonde hair and blue green eyes. The young girl came back as well, and a resemblance could be seen. Tommy was shocked to realize the girl looked like a cross between the older woman and his mother. "What did you say your name was?," the mother asked with an unexpectedly high-pitched voice. He repeated his name. "I think I can help you, sugar."  
  
"You can tell me about my past?"  
  
"Hahahaha, ohh yeah. Your mother stayed with us for a spell." She laughed as Tommy's mouth dropped open, a devilishly angelic sound. "Tommy, meet your cousin Lily. I'm now known as Mama, but you can call me Baby if ya like. The others are around. Your daddy is, too. Hup--you'll meet him soon. Come have some supper with us, cutiepie." He was led into a massive dining room and sat in a carved wooden chair.  
  
To his right sat a skinny black woman chomping down on a pork chop. She smiled at him after swallowing and said "Damn, yer white enough aintcha?" Lily burst out laughing, a throaty laugh that reminded Tommy of his mother.  
  
Also seated at the huge table was a dark-haired behemoth, a 12 year old boy, and a bony misshapen figure sloppily eating mashed potatoes on the end. Baby and Lily reseated themselves and set to, prompting Tommy to pick up a fork and do the same. He'd never been so bewildered in his life, but he felt comfortable around these freaky people. Fresh vegetables and meat eaten on plate that appeared to be a century old in a house that had stood perhaps twice that long--that was a new experience for him. He even had second helpings. _This is your family._  
  
After everyone was finished he followed Baby into the kitchen to help with the dishes. "Well ain't you a polite one?," teased the blonde woman. "Suppose your mama taught you that. You go on an' get acquainted with your cousins. My other youngun Travis'll be happy about another boy in the house Lily gives him such a hard time."  
  
Tommy went to the living room and Lily ran past him, chasing after her brother who was wearing one of her halter tops. A bright pink one, in fact. "Gimme that back!," she screeched, rounding the corner and continuing to run after him.  
  
The black-haired man wearing overalls guffawed, saying "Those two fight like cats an' dogs." The brown-skinned lady rested her head on the giant's shoulder, laughing as well. "I'm Rufus Jr. and this is my wife Rita." Squealing and rustling could be heard from the next room, then a bang. It sounded as if Lily had won the day.  
  
"Er, nice to meet you," said Tommy, sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs.  
  
In a few minutes a sullen Travis entered the room and flopped down in front of the tv. The boy was dark-haired but otherwise a replica of Mama, even down to her mannerisms. Not long after Baby entered the room and bid Rita to go fetch Otis since the sun had went down.  
  
"Yes'm massa I go fetch the ghostman for ye. It's cause I'm the only black girl, ain't it?," she joked, wide mouth in a grin. She got up and did as she was asked, heading for the front door while everyone laughed. A few minutes passed and Rita reappeared, someone behind her. The man was was lean and wiry with starkly white skin and hair to match, wearing patched jeans and a t-shirt with a lemon on it that read "You suck." Tommy stared at him, speechless. _My God, that's why I look the way I do!_ He walked with a limp but radiated strength and danger nonetheless.  
  
Otis cracked a grin, he'd been waiting for something like this for years. His son. Tommy got to his feet, heart beating fast. "Well now," Otis said, rubbing his jaw (which had been partially replaced when a large guy hit him with a garden hoe). "It seems you've found me."  
  
"So you are my father?," the teen asked.  
  
"Ain't too many albinos runnin about, genius," he cackled. "But if yer mother was that big heifer named Stacy Robins, then yeah I'm the culprit."  
  
"Oh shit, I left something in the truck. You wanna see?," Tommy asked.  
  
"If it's a cheerleader and a 12 pack of beer, then hot damn you're my boy."  
  
A few minutes later he threw back his waist-length wispy hair and chuckled heartily. "Slap me around and call me a red-headed stepchild!," he pulled out a twelve pack of beer given to Tommy from Spaulding, and peered at the dehydrated, bloody girl laying in the back of the Blazer. "How I love cheerleaders." Carla squealed as she was removed from the vehicle.


	4. Like Father, like Son

"Now entering Ruggsville," read the sign as they passed by it. Jim was fatigued and after a fruitless search for a motel they decided to sleep in the car. "What are we gonna do?," Stacy whispered to the man she'd helped long ago as they sat in the dark.

"I didn't come unprepared," he answered, opening a bag he had in the back seat to reveal an assortment of firearms, many illegally gotten. Stacy looked at him in surprise--a certified lunatic running around with that much firepower. His scarred face held a lot of pain and determination. He had kept his hair short and he had developed some stubble on his chin from the last couple of days.

"Why did you show up at their house?," she wondered out loud.

"My cousin John, one of my few living relatives, was cruelly murdered by that bunch," he said angrily. "I plotted my revenge for months, following and watching them, only to have it backfire on me."

"You saved me," she pointed out.

"You saved me first," he answered back, letting the seat down so he could rest and settling in to sleep. Stacy did the same then scooted over to brush her lips across his. His one good eye regarded her with surprise, and he was at a loss when she snuggled into his chest and immediately went to sleep. Funny, since that's what she'd been doing for the past day or so. He put an arm around her and dropped off after a few minutes.

Jim awoke with the morning sun shining in on his face through the windshield. Stacy was munching on a soggy sandwich she'd gotten from the nearby supermarket. "Wanna bite?," she asked. "There's another one in the bag." He wasn't all that hungry but took the proffered sandwich and ate it.

"Just as I thought," the old clown declared after hearing the report from Bob, a weaselly looking guy who was a longtime friend of his. "Better let em know company's coming. Heh heh heh." Spaulding scratched his straggly beard and chortled.

The pair passed down familiar dirt roads, trepidation growing about what they would find at the end of their journey. From out of nowhere appeared a petite black woman, waving her arms frantically. She was dressed in a pink dress with matching pumps that were dirty from walking. Jim slowed the car and rolled down the window, and she ran up to them.

"Please, can you help me?," she asked. "My car broke down just down the bend. Could you come take a look at it?" Jim glanced at Stacy, who gave no indication.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to go see," Jim conceded. "You can stay here with the car."

"Ohh, no I'd rather not be alone," interjected Stacy, stepping out of the car and following the former soldier. After a brisk walk they reached an old blue Oldsmobile at the side of the road, flashers on. The lady-in-distress seemed relieved as they neared the vehicle.

"Go and pop the hood," Jim told her, and she did so, smiling ingratiatingly at him. He asked her what the car was doing before it stalled and she answered him back, flashing her pearly white teeth. Stacy didn't feel comfortable.

"Sooo," began the redhead, "What's your name?"

"The name's Rita," she replied.

"Do you live around here?"

"Not too far, but farther'n I wanna walk," Rita said and laughed. "What are you all doing down this way?"

"Just visiting some folks," Stacy cryptically replied. She was liking this situation less and less. She was nearly ready to ask Jim if they could leave when he instructed Rita to try starting the car again. It started, the chocolate-skinned woman clapping her hands in joy.

"Thank you so much, friend," she batted thick eyelashes at him, making Stacy bite her lip. "I'm grateful for your help. I must be gettin home, though. Hey I'll drive you back up to your car."

Stacy didn't desire getting in a car with this lady, but she did anyway to save her a walk. After being dropped off they were once again alone on a dusty stretch of road. She looked pointedly at Jim, saying "Can we get started again?" Jim snorted. The car started and they were off once more, making their way closer to the Firefly home. They were hardly past the spot Rita had stopped at when they ran across a road block. The sign read 'Road Closed.'

"What the hell!," complained Stacy. "Where the hell did that black chick come from? There's no other roads going this way, is there?"

Jim didn't think so, then pointed out the detour sign. They reluctantly took the detour, and Stacy's heart was sinking. This wasn't good at all. Jeez, is paving the road against their religion around here? Half an hour later they still didn't seem to be getting anywhere, then--

Sirens. Sirens? Jim glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the lights coming from behind. "You better pull over," she told him flatly.

"I can't fuckin believe this!," raged Stacy, pacing in her jail cell. Jim was gritting his teeth but remaining silent for the time being. "You can't do this!"

"The hell we can," retorted the attending police officer at the county jail.

"But I never laid eyes on that guy before in my life! Neither of us! ARrrgh!," she sat down on the bench in a huff. Trespassing? Why, there wasn't even a house for a ten mile radius. Who reported them trespassing? And how the hell did a convenience store manager's dead body get in her trunk? "When's our hearing?," she inquired.

"Not till Monday of next week," the young cop responded. It was now only Friday morning.

"Jesus!," she spat. "We have to get out of here," she said to her companion.

"I know that. Now settle down. They won't find any of our fingerprints on the evidence and they don't have a motive. Just in the trunk. Damn, that doesn't look good on us, does it? Maybe we can post bail." _We can only hope._

Tommy spent time with his long-lost family in the meanwhile.

Most of the day he was with Lily and Travis, doing chores or hanging around outside. He'd never been in a rural setting before and was delighted with the animals, trees and farmland that made up the Firefly residence. RJ and Rita were gone, Rita having an apartment close to her job at the medical supply store, but were usually around much of the time. That evening Lily decided to have a little fun with the unfortunate cheerleader Tommy had brought along with him. She dragged the girl up from Otis's lair and into one of the holding rooms. Tommy watched while she cut designs into the young flesh, laughing her throaty, sensual laugh.

It suddenly struck the boy that this was probably how his mother was introduced to the clan, and the thought sobered him. He had a newfound respect for his mother, who was apparently resourceful enough to survive in this environment. However when he looked back up the blood excited him, as did Carla's pain. Otis's voice carried upstairs as he stomped through the house and upstairs. "Awright, who took the cheerleader? Lily! I had plans for her," he burst into the room. Lily regarded him innocently, her curly strawberry blonde hair spilling down her back, round face and upturned nose giving her a ghoulishly cherubic appearance.

It wasn't even quite dark yet and Otis had sprinted across the yard in search of his prize. Stepping forward his smacked Lily in the back of her head, stating "This was a good specimen goddammit. Is she dead?" The teenage girl replied no and stuck her tongue out at him. "It's no wonder you have no friends, impatient girl! Now hands off!"

"Oh Uncle Otis," she purred, taking his arm and leading him to a dusty sofa in the center of the room. "I wanna be just like you," she said, snuggling up on his shoulder.

"Then why ain't your hair white and yer skin bleached, oh-so-pretty britches?," he growled, but his demeanor softened. "Lith, you sunofabitch."

"I heard that!," came a retort from Baby in the next room. Lily giggled.

"Lith?," Tommy wondered out loud.

"I named this girl Lilith, after the beautiful night demoness. A bane to all mankind, that's Lilith. Dumb ol' Baby calls her Lily."

"I heard that too!," called an indignant Mama.

"Come in here an' do somethin about it!," he hollered back jokingly. "Dear Lilith needs ta learn to respect people's property. My boy brought me the cheerleader. Good taste, Tommy," he chuckled. "Now how's your mom?"

This made Tommy feel kind of bad. "I uh--well, I left her tied to her bed on an overdose of sleeping pills."

The wraith burst out into gales of laughter. "Man, I woulda loved to have seen _that_."

"You'd think they'd be all up on propriety back here in the sticks. They have us in the same cell and everything," pointed out Stacy, sharing the sleeping bench with Jim.

"Yeah, I would've like to have gotten some sleep," he grumbled, shifting under his denim jacket.

"Shit, I bet I'm the first woman you've slept with in two decades," she shot back, chuckling. God, sleeping in a jail cell--what luck. She hoped her son was alive and well, because she was gonna kill him if she found him.

Jim opened his eyes and gazed at her moon-pie face all sprinkled with freckles and wasn't sorry he came to find her again. He'd lost one family member to the Fireflys but gained another in her. He wished now to stop the madness from spreading any further.

Tommy had been put in a room with Travis, which he didn't mind so much as Travis was an easygoing boy. The posters of hair bands and muscular men sort of made him a bit uncomfortable, but to each their own Tommy felt. "It's good that you got to meet yer pa," the boy told him as they lay in their respective beds.

"Yeah. Where's your dad?," the pale teen asked.

A troubled silence followed, and the dark-haired boy answered, "He had an...accident. Tractor accident. I was about 8 when it happened."

"Ohh, I'm sorry dude. It must be hard on you and Lily."

The other boy snorted. "He wasn't Lily's pa, doofus. Your uncle was _her_ daddy."

He jerked upright in surprise. "My uncle Tom? Holy crap, she's like my double cousin or something. How cool is that? But...what happened to him? Where is he?"

"That's a question best not asked round here. From what I understand though, Dr. Satan got him. So he's dead."

Tommy was saddened, but glad that a part of his long-dead relative lived on. He had mixed feelings about some things, but was overwhelmed with the feeling of belonging and acceptance he found. He breathed in deeply, relishing being alive.

Early next morning hair tickled his face, waking him up. "Heyo, Tommy," burbled Lily's voice. His eyes opened, revealing a nightshirt clad younger version of his mother standing over him looking down. "We're going into town today, and RJ and Rita will be coming over later. So get up, lazy lurk!" She swatted Travis who was also still in bed, and he threw the alarm clock at her and missed.

Otis, meanwhile, was underground with his coveted cheerleader. The girl was hooked up to various machines and had chemicals being pumped into her system. _Dr. Satan's days are numbered. Already his minions follow my commands. I will remake mankind in my own image._ He looked down at the naked, inert body laying on the slab before him. His work was never done, it seemed--but he took such pleasure in it.

A nightstick thumping as it was dragged across the bars was the duo's alarm clock. Stiff and sore, Stacy sat up and rubbed her lower back, yawning. Jim grunted in protest and looked blearily around. "Reckon it's time to feed you heathens," the sheriff spoke drily, sliding trays through the slot in the bars.

"You lean too close and I'll wring your neck," mumbled the woman under her breath as she took the proffered tray. Her companion snickered. Looking down she found a sad unidentified piece of meat, some dry mashed potatoes and a hard roll. Yum. Being famished she devoured it anyways, as did Jim. He'd had similiar fare at the mental hospital so it was nothing new to him.

Stacy walked around the perimeter of their prison about a thousand times, stiff, frustrated and anxious about her son. Jim tried to comfort her. "If he's anything like you, he'll be all right until we can get to him. Just have faith."

She turned to him, face troubled. "What if he's like his father? What if he's already committed unspeakable acts? What then?"

"We'll deal with that when we come to it. Stacy!," he got her attention. His one good eye regarded her gently, full of pity. Taking her hand he led her to the bench, seating them both and putting a strong arm around her. She settled into his secure warmth, tears running down her round cheeks.

"Tiny, we'll be back shortly. Don't get into anything while we're gone. There's goodies in the fridge and cereal for you to eat," instructed Baby, grabbing the keys and heading out the door followed by Travis, Tommy and Lily. The rail-thin giant grunted and went back to the den to turn on the tv. The others piled into the old blue pickup truck and started off in a cloud of dust.

Mama was dressed in a blue bustier, flowered print blouse and pink frilly miniskirt, wearing some gaudy pink sunglasses and brown workboots. Travis was in a tiny blue shirt and sunglasses in imitation of his mother, Lily in a baby t-shirt, acid-washed cutoffs and snakeskin cowboy boots. Tommy thought it incredibly outdated, but made do with his Led Zeppelin t-shirt and baggy jeans.

They hit the department store, Mama purchasing makeup and odds and ends for the house, the three kids playing football in the aisles and being threatened with ejection. Baby indulged them as she'd always done her children, chastising them rarely. When they exited the building a group of well-dressed teens were standing around the parking lot when one of them spotted the group. "Looks like the freakshow rolled into town," he mocked, his peers laughing. Lily gave the group the middle finger, eliciting more jeers. Mama glared daggers at the rowdy youths but said nothing, putting bags in the truckbed. Tommy did nothing but the rage was back, tugging at his nerves and muscles.

Their next stop was the grocery store but Baby merely started the engine and drove the truck around the corner. Not long after a snazzy sports car pulled out of the parking lot and went down the street, three of the youthful assholes inside it. "Bingo!," went Mama gleefully. She tailed them, hanging back to not arouse any concern. Just as she suspected, they were going to a secluded spot to drink illegally-gotten beer.

Creeping with headlights off, she eased the vehicle to a halt and said softly, "Ok, now some fucktards gonna get a lesson in manners." They got out of the pickup, Travis and Lily reaching under the tarp in the truckbed to grasp a baseball bat and crowbar, respectively. Baby grabbed a revolver and croquet mallet for herself, handing Tommy an enormous pipe wrench.

"Let's go play," declared Lily, licking her lips in anticipation.

The three boys stood around, talking and drinking the beer, trying to outcool one another.

Out of the brush the family burst, coming on the unsuspecting youths like a whirlwind. Travis, the lightest and quickest, cracked his bat against the back of the black-haired ringleader's head. He dropped like a sack of bricks, uttering not even a sound. Tommy broke the nose and a few teeth of the heavyset one, bringing forth a gurgling scream of pain and surprise. The red fog enveloped his brain, driving him on. _Yes, that's it._ It was such a release, a rush of adrenaline.

Mama Firefly swung her mallet, catching one that had turned to run in the back, knocking him down. Lily jumped in, driving the sharp end of the crowbar into his lower back. The teen groaned piteously, still attempting to crawl away. Planting a cowboy boot between his shoulder blades Lilith cracked the back of his skull, ceasing his struggles. Baby let loose with one of her childlike giggles, licking the blood from her mouth. Tommy found that he was breathing hard, gulping air into his lungs and releasing the negative energy back out into the atmosphere. It was so easy, he thought. And so theraputic. But the Fireflys were hardly through. The bodies were thrown in the back, covered with the tarp and the truck took off toward the grocery store.

RJ and his wife were having iced tea with Tiny when the others returned. "Look what WE got!," cried Lily, jumping out of the truck cab. Rita stepped off the porch and peeked under the tarp.

"Ooooh-weee, fresh cracker," she jeered at the tied-up beaten boys.

"Hey look, here comes the tractor guy," pointed out Travis, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. Sure enough, a big red tractor was threading it's way toward the house.

"Quick, get em downstairs," said Rufus Jr, throwing one easily over his shoulder like a bag of flour. Baby began arranging her shoulder-length curls and wiping off stray blood on her lean arms.

"C'mon Tommykins," Rita said, putting an arm around the young man three times her slender size. They helped get the townies stowed away.

Mama smiled endearingly as the tractor rider came to a stop in the yard. "I see yer home now," he stated, taking his ragged cap off his head. The skinny thirtyish man hopped off his farm-equipment ride and smiled a crooked-toothed grin. "Came by earlier and didn't see ya."

"Hi to you too, Eugene. Come on in, poopypants. Wipe yer feet," she intoned, tossing her blonde locks and climbing the porch steps. The scraggly bachelor followed her, doing as he was instructed. "We have some unexpected kin visiting," Baby told him as they went to the living room.

"One of them crazy Sawyers?," Eugene asked, not relishing the thought. Last time he came courting one of them kept picking at him. God, he was creepy.

"Naw, he's Otis's boy. Lily! Tommy!," Mama called. After a few moments they appeared.

"Eugene, my nephew Tommy Driftwood."

"Pleased to meet you," Tommy said.

"Hi Eugeeene," Lily singsonged.

"Lily, behave," warned her mother. "Well, you all go an' find somethin to do. Me and Eugene have some things to talk about."

The teens turned to go and Lily leaned toward Tommy, whispering "They'll do more'n _talk_. Let's go have fun with the fresh meat."

"Ok folks," said the sheriff, balancing trays. "Time for yer meals." He leaned against the bars, and that was right when Jim grasped his shirt sleeve and yanked, the sheriff's head going clang against the cell door. The officer's body slumped to the floor in an ungainly heap, Jim immediately snatching the keys off his belt.

"What the hell--?," squeaked Stacy, golden eyes wide. "You going all flashback on us?"

"I'm getting us outta here," he stated matter-of-factly, trying each of the keys on the ring. Stacy immediately jumped to the side, watching out for anyone else coming. After a few more tries the key fit and turned, opening the jail cell. They stepped over the inert sheriff, turning the corner and making their way down the hall. They had to make it past the deputy's desk and out the front door. Stacy glanced over and saw that Jim had taken the officer's gun as well and groaned. She already felt bad enough about assaulting a cop.

"Hold it right there!," Jim barked, his unassuming voice suddenly stern and commanding as the unsuspecting deputy dropped his coffee and gawked at the gun aimed at him.

"Gimme your gun." Slowly the cop reached for his weapon then handed it to Stacy, who held it uncertainly. "Now turn around," ordered Jim. With a look that said _Why me?_ the deputy turned around. Jim took the set of handcuffs from his belt and handcuffed him to the old radiator. Then they walked out the county jail's front door into a bright Saturday afternoon. A weatherbeaten, well-built man of medium height with a glass eye that didn't quite match his deep grey eye, beside him a woman tall as him, with wavy red hair--both of them looking out at the town and wondering what their next move will be.

"They've impounded my car," observed Stacy, police revolver still in hand. Jim replied that they'd have to 'borrow' a cop car.

"Hol' up!," called a voice, and a little old black man wearng overalls came running up to them, puffing. Oh crap, Stacy thought, witnesses. "I was just comin to bail you out," the strange old geezer said. "Looks like you folks is pretty capable, heh heh."

"Who are YOU?," Stacy demanded, giving up on hiding the firearm.

"Ray Belcher. We ain't got time to waste, we gotta get you outta here," the man urged them. "Get in mah truck, quick!"

The pair looked at one another, shrugged and followed the local to his vehicle. After a false start or two and the grinding of gears they sped out, heading back to the countryside.

"Do you know who we are?," Jim asked the fellow.

"Naw, don't know your names," Ray answered. "Knew you were in town, though. Knew _why_ you were here."

"Whey are we here?," Stacy asked him.

"Help me get my daughter away from those damned Fireflys."

"Did they capture her?," Stacy wanted to know.

"Hell, no. My girl married one of em."


	5. Coming to a Head

The teenagers repaired to the basement to find Travis, resplendent in his boxers listening to Guns n' Roses and having himself a good old time slicing up the captured boys. Lily burst out giggling. "God, you're weird," she said, taking up a knife of her own. She ungagged one of the more lucid ones, the dark-haired one, and asked him how he was doing.

"You fuckin inbred whore! What the hell's wrong with you?," he spat, apparently not fully realizing his situation. He struggled, unable to move out of his chains holding him to the wall. Lily licked her lips and declared he was a fine piece of meat. She put her soft lips on his and moaned with pleasure, running her hands under his shirt. He bit her lower lip, making her stiffen in surprise. She kneed him in the gut, making him release her. She screamed at him, a full banshee sound that made the black-haired youth cringe. Blood trickled down her chin and her greenish eyes twinkled dangerously. She went to the table in the center of the room and selected a lead pipe and came back to him, grinning. "Oh no," the boy groaned, eyes pleading. She then proceeded to whack him him in the side with the pipe until she felt his ribs give way and he slumped against his bonds, unconscious. Frothy red foam oozed out of his mouth and Lily threw down her weapon, satisfied.

"Son of a bitch," Lilith complained, wiping her mouth. Tommy asked her if she was ok, and she assured him she was. In fact, after the brutal beating she'd administered she felt elated.

Tommy suddenly felt protective over his cousin, turning to the preps with retaliation in mind. They were completely under their control to do with as they wanted; it was an awesome discovery. For once he was in power, he wasn't a victim. He didn't even pay any mind when Travis licked the heavy one's face, carassing him almost lovingly.

"Rufus, you didn't have that nasty Bob over at my Daddy's house usin the phone again, did you?," Rita asked him, hands on hips.

Rufus got that guilty look that no male can cover, essentially giving him away to any ladies close to him. The woman's voice rose an octave or two as she scolded him, telling him her pa had had enough trauma in his life and wouldn't take kindly to Spaulding's little monkeyboy messing around his house. RJ let it go on for a while, then simply went over to her and easliy swept the petite woman up and began kissing her.

"RJ you dumb bear!," she chastised, burying her brown hands into his salt and pepper hair and kissing him back. When they pulled away, she said "I thought we was going to yer folks' house today."

"We are," he spoke, frugal as ever with his words. "You ready?"

"I put mah blue dress on, didn't I? So let's go, you big galoot." Rita grabbed her purse and they departed the small apartment.

Otis threw the big switch, making the body on the table jerk and spasm. It raised up and looked around the lab, awaiting a signal from Otis. "My pretty," he crooned, pleased with his creation. "Join your brethren," he instructed, and the naked cheerleader once known as Carla swung her legs over the table's edge and shambled across the room.

A few hours later Otis and Mama were looking at the kids piled up against the wall of the basement. Fear and sweat permeated the air, along with some new bloodstains on the floor. Tommy's head rested in Lilith's lap, Travis's head on her shoulder and they were all asleep. Gore caked their youthful hair and faces in peaceful repose. "Ain't that sweet?," Baby said softly. Otis grinned, seeing Stacy in his son's form.

"Hey big man," he spoke to Tommy. He opened his light brown eyes and they lit up seeing his father. "Come with me." They went upstairs to an unused room and Otis went to the closet.

"These are for you," Otis said, presenting the case of antique surgical tools to Tommy. "I've been saving em for any offspring I might have. Heh."

"Wow," breathed the boy, sensing the extreme age of the utensils. Tentatively he reached out to touch a shiny scalpel in awe. "Did you not know my mom had me?"

Otis shook his head. "Broad skipped out on me before you were born. Didn't figure she'd go through havin you."

Tommy was silent for a few minutes, then looked at the tools again. He wondered if his mother was all right and if she was thinking about him.

Stacy was sleeping in the spare bedroom in Ray's house, still in her clothes, when Jim crawled in beside her. She rolled over to him, saying "What, no more beds in the place?" He muttered no, keeping himself to the edge of his side of the bed. The woman fitted herself against him, arms going around his neck.

"Ummm," went Jim. He was graced with a smoldering kiss, and he detected the rustling of clothing as Stacy shed it. Soon he felt smooth skin against his own, and flustered he started to scoot away and fell out of bed. "Shit!," he swore. It was a good thing the old man's hearing wasn't so great anymore or he'd been seeing about the ruckus. Stacy laughed heartily, the first she'd done so in a long long time, and it felt wonderful.

"Get back in bed," she invited, her top half bare.

"Is this really such a good idea?"

"Get in this bed!," this time it was an order, and like a good marine he complied. As he embraced her, she whispered, "We go into the belly of the beast tomorrow. We may never come back alive," she wrapped her legs around his waist.

The next morning Tommy went down into the beast's lair, eager to learn more about his father. He met some of the ones Otis had brought back from the dead, shambling around. Their brains were mostly mush, and they paid the boy little head. He noticed panels in their heads with lights blinking green and red. He saw more lively ones whose expressions were more lucid but they still didn't respond to him. Then he saw one he recognized.

The naked girl walked aimlessly, limping somewhat. One side of her head was shaved and had the strange lights flashing, and in the flickering electric light many incisions could be seen all over her body. The caked blood on the inside of her thighs attested to Otis's special attention, so he must've enjoyed himself with the unlucky cheerleader. "Carla?"

She turned her head toward the sound of his voice, saliva dribbling down the corner of her mouth. She made some noises but nothing coherent Tommy could understand. "Oh..my..God," Tommy exclaimed.

"You like what I did?," Otis spoke, emerging from the shadows. "Bet she don't give you no lip now." He scratched his stomach and smirked.

"What did you do?"

"A bit of improvement," came the laconic reply. "She didn't quite make it through our little...sessions, and she was still a good specimen. Essentially, her brain is dead but the rest o' her ain't. She even responds sometimes when I'm havin a go at her. Hey, if you wanna have a lil ride on her, feel free. You picked her out, after all."

The boy was suddenly revolted, unable to look at the husk of the once-vivacious girl.

"The deaduns got a battery in their heads, controlled by yours truly of course," he went on, desiring to share everything with his son. "The others are smarter and better workers, all of them improved by me."

"How could you--," began Tommy.

"Why not?"

"It's just wrong!," declared the platinum haired boy.

"Did you expect Mr. Roger's Fucking Neighborhood?," cut in Otis. "You came here to find your family, and this is it. No frills n' bullshit here, baby, and we don't lie to you like yer mama did. Oh yeah, I'm sure she gave you some bogus story didn't she? Everything perfect over there in that little world?"

"You don't know anything about it!"

"Oh, but I do. Sugarcoated dumbed-down nonsense, head full o' ridiculous dreams, livin that rabbit existance. Let me tell you somethin, the only time your mother was ever truly alive was when she was with ME."

"Shut up, don't you talk about her!"

Otis laughed his gravelly laugh, and enlightened Tommy on Otis's ideas and schemes amidst slapping the shit out of Tommy.

"Hurt, didn't it?," Otis taunted after sending the boy reeling backwards. "That pain is nothin compared to how yer mama hurt me." He bent and helped Tommy up, who was completely bewildered at the outburst. "I love you, Tommy--don't you mistake. It's my turn to teach ye, now."

Both turned their heads at the sounds coming from aboveground--sounded like the exchange of gunfire. "Shit on a stick!," spat Otis, urging Tommy toward the exit. Peeking his battered, reconstructed old head out, Otis observed shots being fired to and from the farmhouse. He squinted his sensitive eyes at the harsh sunlight, cringing back into the safe darkness. "Jesus H. Christ we're under attack!"

"What?!," exclaimed Tommy.

A few moments earlier, an old pickup parked out of sight of the Firefly residence and two people got out, slinging guns and bags over their shoulders. "You guys can do this, I know it," Ray told the pair. "Please get my girl if you see her. Hope you get yer boy."

They made their way to the home, Stacy imitating Jim's crouch. She felt so weird with all that firepower on her back and in her hands, and she hoped she wasn't messing up terribly. After spying on the family for a while, they decided to chance sneaking in one of the downstairs windows. However, no sooner than they pushed the windowpane up and Jim starting to squeeze inside when a skinny dark-haired boy walked into the room and cried out in surprise. "We got visitors!," he hollered, and movement could be heard in the other rooms.

"Time to jet!," exclaimed Stacy, pulling on Jim. They ran to cover just as bullets began spraying the spot they had been, hiding behind the junked hulk of a truck. "What do we do?," squealed Stacy.

"Shoot back!," answered Jim, squeezing the trigger on his automatic weapon.

Stacy positioned the gun and aimed like Jim had shown her, pulling the trigger and bracing herself against the kick. She thanked God she didn't shoot her own feet and actually was hitting close to her targets. Sweat trickled down her forehead and she stopped firing to wipe it with her forearm. Her thick hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was dressed in the jeans and blouse she'd been wearing for the last few days, and she figured she was pretty rank even after the shower she had at Ray's house.

Bullets continued to be exchanged between the groups, shouts and curses coming from inside the house. During a break in the barrage Jim told Stacy they needed to move, closer if possible. "Closer?," Stacy was incredulous, her head ringing from the noise. What decided the issue was Jim pushing her out and following right behind her. "Shitballs!," she hissed as they hauled some serious butt toward the front of the house. They hunkered down in front of the porch, catching their breath.

Inside the house was sheer pandemonium, shattered furniture and shards of glass in many of the rear-facing rooms. RJ was reloading his altered SKS and nursing a headwound from a bullet grazing his skull. Baby was in the next room in what was left of a nightgown, picking glass out of her shoulder and chest and cradling a sawed-off shotgun. She called for Lily and was relieved to get an answer--the girl had been upstairs when the shooting began and was unhurt.

"Baby!," came RJ's gruff voice. "It's Travis."

Staggering to her feet Mama rushed toward the sound and found RJ hovering over her son, trying to staunch blood. Twin 9mm's laid where he'd dropped them when he was hit. Checking she found a bullet had went right through his body, narrowly missing the heart and major arteries. Even so he was bleeding and unable to move without excruciating pain. Wild-eyed, the matriarch roared her pain. "Where are they? I saw them headin up front," she spat, shedding the shredded bathrobe she'd been wearing.

"Ready?," asked Jim, asking if she was ready to storm the front door. Stacy replied in the affirmative.

Just then shots rang out at them from a woodshed, causing them to duck. The woman dropped her weapon, face in the dirt. "Come on, fuckers!," challenged Otis, rifle barrel poked out of the shed door. It brought back memories and she nearly froze with fright. She lifted her head up and screamed a response to his challenge and the firing stopped. "You two-timin bitch-hawg wet hole! YOU FUCKIN BITCH, WHAT YOU DOIN BACK HERE?!" Heedless of the sunlight the wraith dashed out of his hiding-place, shooting above their heads to keep Jim from firing back.

Grabbing a handful of blouse he hauled her upright, snarling "Gimme one good reason I shouldn't splatter yer useless brains all over my yard."

Facing him, looking into the well-known faded eyes she replied "Nobody fucked you like I did, you miserable asshole."

"Get up," he told Jim, who obeyed reluctantly. Still holding onto her he smiled at Stacy but it was a shark's grin.

The front door swung open and Baby sprang out, chest essentially bare and brandishing her sawed-off shotgun. She was surprised at seeing Otis in the daylight and even more so at who he had hold of. "Well, well," went Mama, setting down her weapon and sauntering over. "So you're the one who hurt my boy." In the blink of an eye she raked her nails across Stacy's cheek. She went for her again and Jim lunged for them--then Otis slammed the rifle butt against his head. The man fell to the ground out cold.

"Stop!," Tommy yelled, emerging from his cover. Everyone halted and the boy looked from his surrogate mother to his real one, upset.

"Go upstairs with Lily, Tommy," Mama told him.

"Thank God, Tommy," breathed Stacy, relieved to see her son alive and well. "You go on, I'll be fine."

"You shouldn't have come," Tommy scolded his mom, turning to go. "Don't hurt her." Tommy went to check on his cousin after casting a long look at his mother.

"Fuckin crap in a hat, I'm fryin out here," Otis complained, then hollered for RJ to come get Jim. Stacy was observing the all-too-familiar people she'd spent a summer with, Otis seeming not much older but quite ganked up. His jaw was steel, hand was mostly metal and he had a leg brace on his right knee--but few in their right mind would mess with him. He bundled Stacy up the porch steps and into the house.

Baby followed, ample breasts bare and one of them full of glass cuts and bleeding. She was plumper than Stacy remembered and carried a few more scars as well. "Bitch you need your tits cut off and shoved down your piehole," she snapped. Tossing her shoulder-length blonde hair she stalked into the next room to see her son Travis.

Tiny came upstairs at Mama's bidding, having retreated with the gunfire began since he presented such a large target. He was more stooped but appeared about the same, disfigured face covered with a mask. Recognizing Stacy he waved, mumbling in happiness; she waved back and was shoved by Otis.

Stacy clocked him with an elbow, a jarring clang ringing out from his metallic jaw and tore out the door, moving her butt faster than her treadmill on crack-smokin' mode. Almost in slow motion Otis stepped onto the porch and brought the high-powered rifle to bear. Squinting his sensitive eyes in the scope he fired--and a bullet passed through Stacy's lower leg and embedded itself in the ground. Stacy felt a burning in her calf and fell on her side, screaming in pain. She looked at her damaged leg spurting blood then her light brown eyes rolled back in her head.

"Bullseye," crowed Otis.

"Fuck," coughed Stacy as she woke up in a room she'd been in before, riddled with bloodstains. Sharp pain throbbed in her leg, but at least the blood had stopped. Her arm felt sore too, and upon inspection she'd been given some kind of injection. Oh lord, what had they given her? And where was Jim?

"Helloooo, Stacy," said Otis in a high-pitched singsong. "Loooook at my arm!," he swatted her with one of the teenage boys' severed arm. He was apparently raring for action. "Can I give ya a hand?"

"Hello, Otis," she said, gritting her teeth. Otis scratched his back with the appendage and cackled. She watched him move, recalling his serpentine swiftness that was apparent, even though now he moved more carefully. A red bandanna had been tied around his head, but it wasn't a fashion statement. Oh no, not with Otis B. Driftwood--it was to keep sweat out of his eyes and from rusting his replacement jaw. His eyes looked more sunken than the last time she saw him, his lean frame riddled with scars. She appeared nearly the same to him, exept for shorter hair and some lines around her eyes and mouth.

He was supremely pissed at her. He also wanted her something mad. She shied away from him as he neared, jangling the chains that attached to the wall. "Youuuuu thought to keep him away from me, didn't ya?," he shook the grisly relic in her direction.

"Where is my son?"

"Upstairs," came the surprising reply. Tossing the arm aside he took hold of her chin, forcing her to face him. "I...loved you," he said, finally voicing the pain. "Fucking whore. Who's the beat-up old soldier you've dragged with you?" His breath was on her cheek, and she let him run his hands over her.

"Undo these chains," she hissed, pressing herself against him shamelessly. She was baiting him, and he knew it.

"Oh fuck, I've missed you," he moaned, unbuttoning her blouse.

"You realize I'll fucking kill you over our son," she told him, sighing as he tonged a nipple.

"I'll fucking kill you for shits n' giggles," came the retort as he unzipped his pants.

"But a corpse won't ride you like I do."

"AAaaah, you bitch," he giggled like a schoolgirl.

His clothes in a heap beside her own, she spotted the hunting knife he usually wore, and wasted little time stabbing him with it. Right in the neck. Gurgling he writhed in agony, blood pooling on the floor, as she jerked her clothing on and hobbled to the door. "You striped snake," he spat, pulling the knife out and groaning. She made her way up the stairs past a surprised girl that looked like a younger version of herself. Her greenish eyes boggled at the woman before her, like looking in a mirror that had been aged. Tommy soon appeared, and was brought up short as he discerned his mother.

"Mom!," he exclaimed, then ran and embraced her. He'd missed her and was overjoyed she was alive, and repentant as well. "I'm sorry, Mom, I am," he sobbed, and she stroked his platinum hair. "I love them," he spoke truthfully of the demonic family.

"I kow you do," she soothed, glancing over at the teenage girl whose mouth was agape. "I loved them too. But you're better than that. Better than me or them. Tommy, listen! We have to get out of here, and get Rita out too. Her father helped us, and he needs her--he's all alone. Where is Jim?"

"I--I don't know, Baby had him," Tommy answered, and Lily looked at him sharply. He didn't want to leave her, but he realized he couldn't live like this.

"What did you do to Uncle Otis?," she demanded, and it dawned on Stacy she must be the daughter of her dead brother.

Tommy explained who she was and it wrenched Stacy's heart to see such youthful innocence being reared in this hellish den. "Where does Baby keep her...trophies?," Stacy asked. Tommy pointed in the direction and Stacy grabbed his hand in her own mangled hand--the one Otis had chopped half a finger off of when she was young. Working their way down the hall Stacy had her son kick the door in since her leg was lame.

"You can't go in there!," exclaimed Lily, following them but not able to lay hands on her aunt.

Jim was hanging from some straps coming down from the ceiling looking the worse for wear, and a wobbly Travis was raising a knife to strike him. Baby was urging him on when the door flew open. "No!," shrieked Stacy, darting forward as fast as she could. Travis's head snapped toward them. The blade flashed down and instead of his groin (as the kid had intended) it slashed his thigh, eliciting a howl from Jim. Before he could do anything else Stacy seized the knife and sliced the soldier free.

"What the fuck?!," shouted Mama, leaping to her feet. She was clad this time in an 'Achy Breaky' t-shirt, battered old cowboy hat and tight jeans. Then her eyes gazed past Jim and Stacy to the hall, and everyone else turned to look.

A bleached out tottering figure came into focus, holding his throat, gore staining his bare chest. How he got his pants back on was anyone's guess and boy was he pissed off. It was Otis, and the blood that trickled through his fingers appeared thick and unnatural. "You shoulda been a Firefly, darlin," he rasped. "Damn that was a good hit. Why you so surprised?," he addressed Baby and the others. "I had to experiment on myself first. Now--come here an' die like the piggy you are, cunt," he staggered toward his old nemesis/lover. Stacy waited until he neared then, leaning on Tommy and dragging Jim along, propelled them out the door. Travis swooned and Baby caught him, still weakened from his gunshot wound.

"RJ! Rita!," Baby shrieked. "Don't let them get away!"

"God, I'm bleeding pretty bad," observed Jim, tearing off the bottom part of his shirt and making a tourniquet as he was steered through the house. Hulking Rufus appeared at the top of the stairs as they were preparing to descend, his wife Rita in tow.

"Tommy stays here," he says simply, blocking the way with his mass.

"Rita, your father sent us," Jim told her, teeth clenched with pain. "He misses you." Her almond-shaped eyes flew open in surprise.

"He has nobody," added Stacy earnestly.

"Otis has let you live for too long," RJ growled, taking hold of Stacy's arms. She struggled to free herself, her heroic attempts no match for his prodigious strength. Falling back, she went right through one of the large old-timey windows--and down about 25 feet. Tumbling she freefalled for about 2.2 seconds and then met the ground. It was another half a minute before she could breathe again and roll over. Her shoulder ached and she was cut up but didn't think anything was broken. She looked up to see Tommy and Jim jumping but she was unable as yet to yell at either of them. With his military training Jim rolled, grunting at the pain in his thigh. Tommy went ka-thunk like his mother did but didn't fare as badly.

Stacy couldn't breathe for half a minute, and was helped up by Jim and her son. Sounds of a scuffle could be heard from the house. She asked Tommy if he was ok and he assured her he was.

Otis rushed down the hall screaming mad, chest stained with blood. RJ turned and gaped. "What the hell happened to you?," he blurted.

"If anyone's gonna kill the heifer, it'll be _me_! I do the killin' round here. You just drive a tow truck," he mocked.

"Fuck off, Otis," Rufus Jr. growled. Rita was behind him, struck speechless by Otis's appearance.

Metal clanged off flesh and bone as RJ was slapped by the smaller wraithlike Otis. Dark eyes narrowed in surprise and anger--Rita gasped. RJ knocked him aside with a broad shoulder, not wanting a confrontation and intending to head down the hall. Otis wrapped robotic fingers around a thick throat and was clocked in the side of the head by RJ's meaty fist. "No!," shrieked the black woman, unsure of what to do. "Otis, stop that! RJ!"

"You two cut that out!," huffed Baby, high voice tinged with authority. Rita looked to the blonde woman and saw tears staining her fair face. Travis must be in bad shape indeed to have her this upset, Rita thought. Mama muscled her way between the two men and separated them; both were unwilling to lay hands on the matriarch. "You get yer truck and run em down," she pointed at RJ, blue eyes flashing. "And you," she rounded on Otis. "Get to work on that surprise you keep talkin about in the basement. I'll go take care of shit like _I_ always fuckin do." She stalked off, leaving RJ and Otis glaring at one another.

Otis made for the stairs hissing, "This ain't over yet." Rita (after casting a loving look at RJ) followed him down the steps worriedly, asking him if he needed any help and if he was all right. He whirled about abruptly, causing her to nearly run into him. "Oh, I'm fine, darlin," he wheezed, reminding her of his bad lung. Running his fingers through her close-cropped hair he smirked, saying "I could use some help, though." Clutching her arm he pulled her after him as he headed for his lair. His safe place.

Oh, what surprises he had in store.

"Goddammit, where's my keys?," growled Stacy as she checked her pockets. The Blazer sat in sad silence. Tommy had left his set inside, and Stacy had had hers confiscated by the freakish clan of miscreants that called this spread home. Heavy booted footfalls sounded on the front porch, the trio turned toward the sound and spotted the hulking figure wearing patched jeans, t-shirt and a checkered flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off. "Shit, it's RJ," Stacy groaned. "I need a fuckin drink."

"Red-headed BITCH!," he snarled, voice a bass rumble. "You shot Travis an' made my sister cry. Your ass is _mine_."

"RUN!," shouted Tommy, supporting his mother and partially Jim as well. Blood was sticky on the old veteran's leg, but he'd stopped the bleeding. Didn't help the painful throbbing every step brought, though. They cut across the yard and into the brush when they heard Rufus Jr's truck start up.

A guttural chuckle emerged from RJ's throat as he gunned the engine and took a swig of his bottle of gin. The tow truck made short work of bursting through foliage and debris, driving his targets before him like spooked deer. They ran until they could run no further, and hid in a stand of trees--RJ's truck couldn't follow. Cursing he switched the motor off and crowbar in hand exited the vehicle. When he stepped closer something hurtled toward him, knocking him backward. Jim had shoulder-tackled him and deftly relieved the big man of his weapon, then went to work on him with it. RJ took blows that would've felled most other men and merely grunted, and dealt Jim a strike which left him seeing stars. He staggered.

"Jim!," exclaimed Stacy, rushing to him. Tommy went after her.

"Go on, get outta here," rasped Jim, readying himself for another round. "Now's your chance!"

"Ohhh, no," argued the woman. "Not this time, dammit. Not this time!" Before she could react RJ whipped a chain out and wrapped it around Jim's neck. With his powerful arms he crushed his enemy's neck, letting the body flop in a boneless heap. "You bastard," she hissed, staring at Jim's inert form. Scooping up the crowbar from the soldier's grip she bounced it off RJ's head, stunning him for a bit; however, he had another weapon he pulled off his belt: his small hunting knife.

"Don't hurt my mom! Please, RJ!," pleaded Tommy as simultaneously the short blade pierced her skin, sliding neatly between two of her ribs. Gurgling could be heard as she drew in her breath, a hideous sound as she struck RJ a final time, opening up a wound on his forehead. The behemoth took hold of that arm, forcing it slowly down as he tried to get another hold to stab her again. Her other arm prevented this, however, and her free hand found its way to his testicles which she squeezed mercilessly. RJ's face turned white.

A sickening crack signalled her right arm had broken, eliciting a long wail from her lips. Tommy beat at RJ with his own strong fists, but the boy hadn't come into his own yet and the blows simply rebounded off the man's tough hide.

"That's enough!," came a gravelly voice. RJ glanced up and saw Otis with his high-powered rifle trained on him. "Step away from my heifer." He slowly approached, aim steady. RJ lowered the woman's now nonmoving body to the ground, saying nothing. Tommy was weeping over his mother, in shock.

"Just to let you know, dear sweet Rita is now stayin with me as my guest," he taunted RJ who was still as a mouse. "She's ever so much help," he giggled viciously.

"Otis, if you've--," Rufus began.

"She's fine," he assured him. "For now. Come here, Tommy." The boy cautiously obeyed. With serpentine swiftness Otis stuck a syrienge procured from his belt pouch in the boy's neck. It was tranquilizers and the teenager went out like a light.


	6. Just When You Thought it Wouldn't Get An...

Mist enveloped Tommy's brain and he felt sluggish and heavy. Opening leadened eyes he knew where he was: his father's underground lab. He also discovered he was hooked to some kind of machine. Watery fluorescent light aided the dispelling of some of the fog clinging to his consciousness. Woozily the boy yanked tubes out of his arms and sat upright, thankful he hadn't been restrained. What in the blazes had Otis done to him? "Mom?," he called out, casting his gaze about the sterile room. It resembled many a doctor's office he'd seen, but for the water dripping sounds and the occasional blood stain. Please let my mother be alive, he said to himself. He large young body nearly toppled over as his feet hit the tile. Jeez, he felt like he was in the seventh dimension, his very perception seemed ahead of him. Rubbing his head he called for his mom again and got no answer.

Voices came from down the hall, he was sure but they seemed to be inside his head as well. It was rather disorienting and left him with vertigo.

"Frankly Otis I can't believe she's still alive. She is cute though. Look at those arms."

"Mother Firefly said the exact same thing," he giggled. "She was so right about her."

"You really love her, don't you?"

"Aw, bite me. Reach me those calipers, will you?"

"Otis, you gonna let me go when we're done?" Silence. "Dammit, you whiteass piece of shit. RJ will kill you."

"Maybe I fancy some dark meat," he mused.

"Maybe I'll bite yer dick off. That is, if you still have one."

"Oh I'm all man down there, baby." The voices strangely enough didn't get louder the closer Tommy came. He pushed the door open to find his mother laying on a slab, Rita and Otis bent attentively over her.

"What are you doing?," the teen demanded.

Otis seemed happy to see his son. "She'll be comin around directly." Tommy asked if he helped her and if she was going to be ok. "She's dying, Tommy."

"What? NO!," he exclaimed.

Stacy mumbled and opened her eyes, slowly focusing on Otis's face close to her own. Breathing was a trial, her whole body unable to obey her. She was truly scared now, fearing dying in this underground torture chamber. The wraith smoothed her hair back from her forehead in a familiar gesture, saying softly, "Don't be afraid, princess. There's another way."

"What way?," mother and son spoke in unison.

"I can save you, but you'll be changed physically. You don't have to die, you shouldn't have to die. You're truly my complement. But you will remain with me."

Stacy shook her head at first, tears streaming from her eyes. "I don't wanna be some dead flesh, walking around mindlessly," she coughed.

"You won't be. Yer not dead yet, mama. How do you think I've survived my ordeals?," he pointed to the now-sutured gash she'd dealt him earlier that day.

"Mom," said Tommy, taking her hand. "Don't leave me."

"Tommy, you can't stay here, it's not safe anymore. The cops will be looking for us," she rasped. "You must go, and know that I love you. Where's Jim?," she asked Otis.

"That broken-down old vet? RJ finished him off, though he'll make a good specimen. You in love with him?"

"Piss on you," croaked Stacy. "Tommy will need someone to look out for him in our stead."

"You're mine," Otis whispered to her, breath hot on her cheek. Even now she found him sexually overpowering. "But I can do what you ask."

"That bad, huh?," Spaulding scratched his chin. "Figured the shit would hit the fan one day."

Baby sighed. "An' poor Travis ain't in no shape to travel, but I don't see any way around it."

"Yep, the place'll be crawlin with bacon soon enough," said the old clown. "I can help you with Travis till he's better, but we'll have to split up."

Mama had never been out in the world without the support of her family. How would she take care of herself and her children? What would become of them? If they were caught it would be so much worse, but still. "Somebody better go see if RJ and Otis have killed each other and everyone else," she pointed out. Of course, that somebody meant good old Spaulding. However casual she sounded that was something else the shrewd blonde was worried over.

"Go down into that dank, godforsaken hole with Otis's toys? Why shore, I'd love to!," Spaulding said sarcastically. "Only for th' memory of bouncin you on my knee when you were little," he snatched up the firearms on the kitchen table between them and took a deep breath. "We ain't got much time. If I'm not back in an hour you'll have to leave on yer own." He headed for the door when a strawberry-haired figure darted after him, clutching RJ's Chinese rifle.

"Lily, come back here!," ordered her mother.

"I can do it, Mama. I can help," the girl tossed over her shoulder. Frustrated, Mama went to check on Travis, who was still in pain but resting. Then she went to pack some things and ready her truck.

"Well come on then, busybody," Spaulding told Lily as they neared the shed entrance.

RJ cooled his heels in one of the storage rooms, surrounded by Otis's helpful servants. They watched him quietly and with purpose, intelligent yet under the albino's sway. He was completely creeped out at the moment, and there was little he was afraid of. His crotch was raw and sore. He missed Rita and a stiff drink. Speaking of which, he figured he'd rummage around the stacks of boxes and see what turns up. The guards didn't move to stop him, simply keeping the exit blocked.

Ten minutes later he was swigging who-knew-how-old Jagermeister and swearing to administer the beating of Otis's life to him.

"I had planned on lettin Travis play with him when he was feelin better," admitted the ghostlike Otis, pulling aside a curtain to reveal the still form of Jim, his ragged face peaceful. "He wasn't quite dead. Heh." Picking up a syrienge he inserted the needle into Jim's arm with practiced precision while Tommy observed him with interest. Stacy was beginning her transformation as well, being overseen by Rita. As father and son's attention seemed focused on Jim, Rita saw her chance and began edging her way toward the door.

His back still to her, Otis spoke "Get yer shit back over here, prissyboots."

"You cocksuckin cracker! I'm worried about RJ."

"You worry about yourself."

"Dad, stop it," Tommy cut in, causing Otis to smile his toothy grin appreciatively at him. "Hey, you haven't shown me how you control your specimens." Unthinking, he told him there was a generator deeper in the tunnels which powered the batteries in their heads. Tommy was his mother's son, after all.

Jim opened his eyes after spending uncountable time floating in nothingness and took a couple of deep breaths. It was like the vision he'd had before, of dying, falling into the abyss and coming back attended by a strong young man with pale hair. His throat was raw and painful but he strangely felt...good. "Steady there, Romeo--you've been snatched from the jaws of death," he intoned like a southern preacher. The scruffy man sat up and looked around in bewilderment. His new charge regarded him with Stacy's warm golden eyes. "You watch over my boy," said Otis, now serious. "Or I'll kill you."

"I'd give my life for him," Jim shot back. "Just as I did for his mother."

_You weren't truly dead, ya twit_, Otis thought, wiping his hands. _But I'll slit yer belly and feed you your guts if anything happens to my son_.

"I speak the truth, ghostman," countered Jim, his gaze unblinking. Otis wondered what it was about the shit in the chemicals that caused the altered perception. Running feet could be heard from up the passage, heralding the arrival of Captain Spaulding and Lily.

"Glad we found ya," Spaulding declared. "Baby called me. We gotta go, right now so c'mon."

Otis's face held a blank expression for a few moments. "Go? Go where?"

"Bob heard on his scanner that the cops are conductin a big search of the whole area, so we gotta get outta here."

The slender man shook his head incredulously. "It's still daytime--and besides, I ain't finished here, an' if I was I ain't got anywhere to go to." Snorting, Spaulding asked where RJ was. "Stayin outta trouble," he laughed, gesturing in the direction he was being kept. "Go on, if ye wanna. I ain't afraid; my secrets can guard themselves."

Lily stepped forward, grabbing Otis in a squeezing hug, adoration and sadness in her big green eyes. He was reminded of her mother, playmate and companion and steadfast rock. "You're a dumb motherfucker," sighed Spaulding. "We gots to get our asses movin." He noticed Stacy's inert body and her new shiny metal leg and shook his head. Otis whipped out a partial robotic arm and hand intended for his long-lost love and snickered as he waved it at them. Jim jumped down off the table, surprised at the absence of pain in his thigh.

Tommy ran to his father, feeling lean strong arms that had murdered and maimed countless people around his shoulders. Otis whispered that he loved him in the boy's ear along with encouraging words meant only for a son. The teen then bent and kissed his mother's forehead, regretting she wasn't finished and awake yet. Shortly a line of them exited the room and threaded its way down the tunnel hand-in-hand: first Spaulding then Lily, Rita, then Tommy followed by Jim. Deeper they went, the air growing more stale and heartbeats loud in their chests. They came upon a doorway blanketed with moving shadows--it seemed some of the Helpful Ones were guarding something. "Hey!," slurred RJ.

"RJ!," Rita cried joyfully, dashing to the entrance only to be accosted by the ten or so mutants. RJ hollered her name in relief, stumbling forward to be blocked by the guards.

"We have to turn off the generator to kill the zombies and distract these guys," Tommy urged them. "It's a little past this chamber." Spaulding groaned, eager to be gone.

There came the dreaded noise--police sirens. Travis was safely tucked away in one of the house's many secret passages as Mama peeked out an upstairs window. Two cars, three cops. More will be here though. Automatic handguns in her belt she slipped downstairs to TCB--take care o' bidness. One officer came up to the front door, the other two coming around back to check things out. "I have no time for this," she grumbled, heading toward the back door. One cop was laying dead before the others even registered what had happened. The downed one's partner took aim at Baby but fast as ever she ducked under the window she'd shot out of. The door was kicked in as the enraged officer burst inside.

The deputy around front was trying to find his way in to help his comrades when he heard another exchange of fire. Cursing he sprinted to the back door and was confronted with two dead cops amid crimson splatters. One's throat was torn out and the other had a bullet in his heart. Childish giggling echoed through the house. His eyes darted around the room and found nothing. He was shaking but proceeded to follow the laughter, pistol at the ready.

"Hehehehe," came the demonic giggling. In the empty house where two of his companions lay slain it was completely unnerving. Carefully he moved in the direction the sound came from, lips moving in silent prayer. Cold metal pressed into his temple; he swallowed and raised his hands. "Well hey there big boy," came a high-pitched voice while he was relieved of his weapon. Slowly he turned to face his adversary: an ordinary-looking, if pretty, fortysomething blonde in t-shirt and tight jeans eyeing him as a viper does a mouse. "Open wide," she breathed, putting the gun barrel in the man's mouth and pulling the trigger.

BLAM

Her hand and arm was suddenly warm and sticky. Satisfying chunks of brain matter, skull and blood painted the wall's peeling wallpaper. The officer's body took a second or two to fall flat on the floor. Baby inhaled the scent of gunpowder and burning flesh for a moment before turning on her heel to finish preparing for departure. She called for Tiny to fetch Travis to the truck. _Please hurry, Spaulding. Bring the rest o' my family back._ Glancing outside she saw moving, shambling shapes and did a double take.

There were dead people walking about, dozens of them. What the blazes was this?

Otis put the transciever back in his pocket with a contented grin. The entrances had been opened and his creations released to the aboveground. Let whomever try to come and get him. Let them come; he was safe. He and his wife were safe.

"Blast em!," Tommy encouraged Spaulding. "They won't let us by and we have to go down that way."

Shrugging, the old man took one's head nearly off. Lily followed suit, finding that hitting their heads was the only way to stop the dead ones or the live ones. The group darted through an opening and sprinted, clutching one another in terror and excitement. Lights were few and far between, and if one stumbled they all nearly fell.

"There it is!," pointed out Rita. "The generator!" In a cold damp chamber sat a monster of steel and cables.

Problem was, no one knew what to do when they reached it. Switches, buttons and grids greeted them, and Tommy was afraid of adversely affecting his mother as she was remade. Rita told him she'd seen diagrams once, made by Otis, but she had no idea what they were for--but it seemed she recognized the machinery. She threw some switches and tore wires out of boxes. Tommy hoped she was right.

"I feel alot better, Mama," Travis declared when Baby came to the secret room to check on him. "Whatever Otis gave me worked good." He shifted where he lay.

The woman checked his bandages, grumbling. "There are creatures outside."

"Creatures?," the boy's blue eyes were wide.

"Dead things," Mama answered. Travis stared at her in disbelief. Gunshots rang out from some distance away, the blonde dashing out of the room to peer out a window. "It's them!," she cried.

Minutes earlier, reanimated corpses lay where they had dropped when Rita cut the power. RJ came staggering out of the room he was being held in, quite pickled but unhurt. The live guards clutched their heads and appeared confused, some walking into walls. Tommy darted forward and punched the big man right in the jaw. He shook his head and looked at the boy with reddened eyes in surprise. "That was for my mom," Tommy stated. Then he pushed RJ forward where he was recieved by Rita with many kisses.

"Move yer asses!," goaded Spaulding, hauling his bulk with surprising speed. Eventually the group came to an exit and burst into bright sunlight, blinking like owls. Thank God, they were all thinking. Machinery and gears grinding echoed from the opening and they all looked at one another in trepidation.

Deep underground a wraith's hand threw a little-used switch--the back-up generator. Did they think he'd send his minions out without a plan B? He laughed, causing a coughing fit. Damn, he'd weakened his bad lung. Otis bent to kiss the full lips of the woman on the slab before him. Stacy stirred and opened her eyes, feeling a bit groggy. She rubbed her head and discovered a bionic arm that responded like her own flesh. A white-skinned hand touched it lovingly and she raised her gaze to behold Otis standing over her. "Welcome home," he told her. She smiled.

"Shit, they're getting up again," swore Jim as he was nearly grabbed by a particularly spry corpse. The party ran toward the house and met Baby rushing down the porch steps, guns strapped all over her body. Tiny was behind her hunched over and carrying Travis.

Then when it seemed things couldn't get any stranger, it did.

Dust kicking up heralded a good dozen police cars speeding toward the Firefly house. "Great googly moogly," squealed Mama, bundling her son into her pickup. They were surrounded by zombies and cops. She turned to RJ and Rita and told them they all must separate or they were all fucked. She embraced the black woman with real warmth and kissed her huge brother's cheek. Then she put the keys to Stacy's Blazer in Tommy's hand after giving him a handgun.

The son of Otis faced Lily, grasped her shoulders. "Come with us," he urged.

She shook her head in regret. "I can't." Jim's heart went out to Tommy; he could see there a bond between the teens already as strong as the one between Otis and Baby.

Tommy exhaled, frustrated. "Please come with me. How can you live like that?"

Her forehead wrinkled in consternation. "Live like what? I can't leave Mama and Travis, an' anyways I don't know how to live any other way. I'm sorry. I'll miss you, Tommy." They hugged fiercely, almost certain they'd not see each other again. He breathed in the soft scent of her reddish-blonde hair and could feel the beat of her young heart, strong and free. When they parted he turned from Lily quickly before he broke down.

Tommy said goodbye to the rest of them then braced himself to fight through countless zombies to the vehicle. Rotted flesh and putrifying moving bodies crowded them, the corpses grabbing at them hungrily. RJ and Rita made their way to RJ's tow truck just as the myriad cop cars pulled up, sheriff's voice on a bullhorn ordering everyone to freeze, which is what exactly didn't happen. Zombies closed in on the bewildered officers and Tommy winced as he heard some scream as they were literally ripped apart. Suddenly he was confronted with a nude young woman reaching for him and gibbering--it was Carla and she meant to tear into him. Swallowing he slowly raised the gun, aimed for her head and fired. Blood sprayed out the back of her head and she dropped, finally at peace. "I'm sorry, Carla," he whispered to her. Digging down deep he used the angst and rage inside him to his advantage this time. The voice inside his head he blamed on Otis had been his own mind's voice, after all.

Jim had snatched a rifle from Mama's truck and utilizing it for maximum effect, taking his new role as Tommy's protector very seriously. They finally made it to the Blazer and scrambled inside, Jim appropriating the keys and starting the engine up. "No," gasped Tommy as he saw Tiny go down under a spray of the cops' bullets. Baby's face screwed up into a mask of pain, she grasped her deformed brother's hand and kissed it, then started her truck and peeled out, her children at least secure. Spaulding was in the truckbed laying facedown and praying for it all to be over.

"Go go GO!," screeched Rita, out of her mind with panic. Bullets whizzed by and the Helpful Ones were trying to impede their progress. RJ mentioned they should take the little-used route 16. "We have to get my daddy! RJ we can't leave him!" Grumbling he acceded, whipping the tow truck about.

The vehicle plowed several reanimated bodies under, splattering blood and fluids all over the hood and windshield. Rita loaded her pistol and fired, adding to the racket of RJ driving and shooting a sawed-off at the same time. He swerved to avoid hitting a bank when two zombies nearly climbed into the cab with them. The male one sank his teeth into RJ's beefy arm. He jerked his limb towards himself, the zombie taking a chunk out of him. "Fuckballs," he hissed, barely keeping control of the tow truck. Rita gasped when she glanced over and saw his arm.

The last cop was taken down as he attempted to radio for more help, an arm still holding the radio reciever passed along to a dead young woman who gnawed it with gusto. The Helpful Ones busied themselves herding the dead ones and sealing and hiding the entrances to the tunnels.

The tow truck came to a stop in front of an old one-storey house, the dark-skinned woman running down the path to the front door. "Daddy!," she hollered. Ray appeared in the doorway scratching his chin as Rita hurriedly relayed what had happened. "And RJ is hurt but we have ta get outta here!"

"I oughta kick his damn ass for gettin you mixed up in this mess," the old man grumbled. "Damned Fireflys." Nevertheless he quickly packed a few things and headed to the tow truck with his daughter.

"Wake up, Tommy," spoke a deep, masculine voice. The boy sat up in the truck seat, rubbing his eyes and saw Jim chewing thoughtfully on a hot dog. He had been plagued with dreams of carnage and dead bodies and was relieved to find the canny soldier with him.

"Where we going?," Tommy wondered. Jim replied that they were heading west to lose themselves. The teen burst into tears, God he was a murderer of a long line of murderers. He carried that seed of evil inside him. Did he deserve a second chance, a new life?

"Your mother gave up a lot to ensure a decent life for you," Jim reminded him. _There's that telepathy again_, Tommy thought. Jim snorted as he started up the Blazer and they continued on their way.


End file.
